by Kia Corthron
“You did your job. You stood with the people, advised them. If we hadn’t been out there, some kind of deterrent, I imagine there would have been a lot more arrests, and worse.” Beau is anxiously unsure. “You don’t look good, Beau, I think you got a little sunstroke. You could use the rest.”
Eliot notices the NAACP men looking in their direction. He indicates for them to come over. Warren does, as Joe Archie checks on Mrs. Yancey.
“I’m concerned about Beau. He seems pretty fatigued after being out in the sun all day. He has relatives nearby, and since there was only one arrest that I can offer counsel to, I thought I’d drive him to his family and he can rest for the evening. I’ll be back before six.”
“I didn’t ask him to! He just suggested, he—” Beau takes a breath. “I will be happy to stay here and do my job.”
Warren glances over at Les, who seems to be in a bit of a tussle with the deputy.
“You do look a little peaked. Whatever you two decide, I’m okay with.” He walks over to Les and the officer. Beau and Eliot stare at them, and after a few minutes Warren turns around to wave them on.
“Come on,” says Eliot. “Let’s go so I can get back.”
“No, I haven’t decided yet! This doesn’t feel right.” Beau’s hat oscillating in his hands.
“Excuse me.” Mrs. Yancey suddenly standing near. “Can somebody fine me the colored bathroom?”
Beau and Eliot are baffled. Mercifully there had been an outdoor facility next to the courthouse for colored use, but here in the jail, the cells undoubtedly filled with Negro inmates frequently, the only lavatory visible is marked WHITE ONLY. Joe Archie is looking in their direction, and walks over.
“She needs a bathroom,” says Eliot.
“Oh. Oh yes, ma’am, we’ll find it,” and Joe Archie walks the feeble woman outside. Eliot is aware that this man who has lived here all his life is clearly not certain there is such a thing as a colored restroom in the vicinity.
“Well?” Eliot asks.
Beau struggles a few moments. Finally, “No! I came here to do a job, not to have a family reunion!”
Eliot stares at Beau, then moves away from him. He gazes out a window, hands in pockets, thinking of the recent reunion in Maryland of his own family, something getting smaller.
“I didn’t mean that.” Eliot turns around. A softness now in Beau’s face, and Eliot realizes the elder has surmised his thoughts. “I mean. Yes. Thank you.”
When Eliot drops Beau off at Rosie’s, she is jumping up and down, and runs to hug her brother. Eliot steps out of the car but stands leaning against it, not wanting to intrude. He stares at the house, by no means indicative of wealth but certainly a few degrees above the Coatses’ level of hardship. Rosie scampers over to embrace Eliot as well, then leads him by the hand into the house.
“I know you can only stay a minute but I wanted to introduce you to Roy.”
Roy on his cart is in the kitchen mending a pair of dungarees. From the top of his head to the floor he stands about three and a half feet. “Roy, this is Eliot.”
If Eliot’s face reveals the shock and pathos he feels, no one seems to notice. “Nice to meet you there, Eliot,” and Roy shakes his hand.
Beau enters. “Whoa,” says the visitor, “looks like you lost a little hair there, partner.”
“Well now I see your big fat belly I guess you ate it.” They both laugh heartily, then Beau goes down on one knee, like some fairy-tale marriage proposal, something Eliot never would have guessed he could do so effortlessly, especially after the day in the sun. And now Eliot sees that just being with his family seems to have put Beau back in optimal health. The brothers-in-law embrace so tightly and for so long that Eliot becomes embarrassed and looks away.
“Here’s your supper.” Rosie comes to Eliot. “It’s a roast chicken sandwich an boiled egg. I didn’t have time to peel the egg but I figure you can handle that.”
“Oh! You didn’t have to.”
She gazes at her husband and brother. “Well you didn’t have to neither. But cha did.”
When Eliot gets back to the center of town, it’s 4:55. He walks to the park, a rectangle bordered by the jail, courthouse, and other public buildings. He makes certain to identify the Negro area before sitting on a bench to dine.
It’s the first time he has been alone with his thoughts in a few days, and there has been plenty to process. After the funeral and a couple of respectful hours at the wake, he had gotten on the road, Andi (who had called in “sick” to work that Monday morning) following in her azure Beetle. Barely another hour had passed before he was suddenly aware that he was famished, and they pulled over to a small diner. They both ordered huge plates of spaghetti with garlic bread, and though neither of them said as much, they each came to recognize this as the first time they had been out to eat, what might be called a date. Eliot had wolfed down the pasta and still felt hungry, surprising himself by ordering a second full plate and finishing that one off too.
“How much have you eaten since Friday?” Andi had asked, and only then did he realize how empty his stomach must have been. “You made me hungry too,” she added, and told him about the cheese crackers episode, and for the first time in days they both laughed, and heartily. He then revealed, cautiously, that he wanted to be with her, and she answered, cautiously, that he had been through a lot recently, that she wasn’t saying no but if they even considered this it would have to be taken slowly. In answer to a question he was afraid to articulate, she had admitted to her reluctance in the past, why Gary never happened, her fear that their age difference would eventually leave someone brokenhearted and she guessed she didn’t want that someone to be her. But on her drive to Humble, she finally reasoned that age is only one of a thousand reasons relationships don’t work, or do. Then she sipped her cherry cola. “Have you spoken with Didi lately?”
He had nodded, saying nothing more. Didi had called that morning before the funeral. He was very happy to hear from her, but it occurred to him that he was touched in the same way he would have been had an old friend called—not a lover, and certainly not a girlfriend. He knew he would have to have a more difficult conversation with her soon, but decided to postpone it until he felt a little stronger. He promised himself it would happen before anything started with Andi again.
Two days later, Wednesday evening, Didi had called him at home to tell him she had had an abortion the day before. She had been torn between laying this on him now and keeping something so important from him. He could hear the physical weakness in her voice and was upset that she had gone through it alone, but she said a friend had given her some contacts, and one woman, a registered nurse who had already been through such an ordeal herself, not only went with Didi for the procedure but stayed overnight at Didi’s place to make sure there were no complications, all at enormous risk to the woman’s career. “I’m sure she and I will be friends for life.”
Eliot was quiet. “Please at least let me pay for it.”
“Eliot, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know. And, believe me, I’m lucky compared to all the women making appointments with back-alley butchers. I’m rich, remember?” He was silent. “Alright. If it’ll make you feel better, send me a check.” She paused. “I suppose you thought I hadn’t been calling because I’d lost interest.” He could hear a smile in her drained voice.
“You suppose right.”
“Not yet, though you have definitely been on probation ever since the day you picked out those ridiculous underthings for me to wear.” He had laughed softly, and pondered what to say next. Before he could work it out, she continued. “This all kind of knocked me for a loop though.” He heard her swallow. “I’m thinking maybe we should back off a while. At least a year, till I see how this birth control pill thing is panning out.” A joke, and not.
She had made it all so easy for him, his moving on, and he felt a
little sick with guilt. And then she had said, “Once when I called Maryland trying to get you, Andi answered.”
He caught his breath. “We didn’t. We didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t. But you will.”
He sighed quietly. “Didi—”
“Listen, sweetie, if you were going temporarily out of commission, I can guarantee I wouldn’t be a nun waiting for you. So what’s good for the goose.”
“I don’t know about Andi and me.” He was about to say more, he felt he owed her some sort of honest explanation, but she had laughed then, suddenly the old mysterious carefree Didi laugh that she knew drove him nuts by her refusal to ever define its subtext. He shook his head, a wistful smile, wiping a tear.
“I’m going to call tomorrow. And I’m going to keep calling. To see how you are.”
“Oh good, because I was seriously considering becoming a lesbian and avoiding all this drama. You’ll be the first to know.”
“You’ll make a lot of women very happy.”
He was quiet all Thursday, sequestering himself in his office. At five he walked out to Andi’s desk, noticing her putting her things together to leave. She looked up.
“I talked to Didi.”
She had stared, her eyes shining.
“Can we. Can we talk tonight?”
“I have my class.”
“Oh! I forgot.”
She continued softly. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”
Friday was busy, and he couldn’t find a moment alone at Andi’s desk until mid-afternoon.
“You and Will going for a drink tonight?”
She had looked at him, an odd smile. “Uh-uh.”
“I thought you always did on Fridays.”
“We had been. But, I don’t know. Neither of us brought it up today. I’m kind of looking forward to going home and washing my hair, getting to bed early.”
“How about dinner first?”
Her eyes still on him. “I’m kind of tired, Eliot.” He nodded, a bit embarrassed, and turned to head back to his office. “How about tomorrow night?”
He turned around smiling, hopeful.
“Slow,” she had reminded him.
“Definitely.”
And they had taken it slow. They picked up a pizza and went back to Andi’s just to talk. And they kept things slow all through dinner, and all through the long evening chat, and all through their ice cream dessert, and all through sex that night and all day Sunday, periodically hearing the crazy neighbor dog which now caused him to laugh.
As promised, Eliot had called Didi a few consecutive evenings, and on Monday morning, six days after the procedure, he rang and there was no answer. His heart beating, he tried her at work and was relieved and elated when she answered, sounding like her old self. She told him her colleagues were glad her rough bout with “the flu” was finally over, then began enthusiastically elaborating on a case she had just been assigned. For a moment he worried that her giddiness indicated she had forgotten that they were no longer together, as the decision was made in her fragile fog of the previous week. Then he wondered if she were forcing a deliberate smiling face to prove how she had already emotionally moved on. No, she seemed genuinely jubilant. And then it hit him: how life-threatening her out-of-hospital surgery was, and how grateful she was just to be alive. And he loved her. No longer carnal desire, but rather his admiration for her unceasing courage and drive and unparalleled strength, and he fiercely hoped that he would always have the honor of calling Didi Wilcox his friend.
He’d forgotten it was his birthday until his father called later that morning. Because it was his mother who’d always made this call, it was all Eliot could do to be gracious during the two-minute conversation, and instantly after hanging up he had placed his palm tight on his mouth to gag the sobs. At 4:30, his colleagues surprised him with cake in the conference room. At five, Andi had to rush off to study for an imminent and crucial exam. As things were just starting with them again, he certainly wouldn’t have expected her to take him out for his birthday, and at any rate he was hardly in the mood to celebrate this first motherless one. But when he returned to his office he found on his desk a small box, as if to hold a ring, and a note: “Happy 26th.” A shiny new penny. Andi’s gift of luck for his next Dixie venture, just as when she had found the heads-up cent and given it to him for his travels to Georgia. When he turned the coin over, he saw that both sides were heads.
Eliot holds the egg, happy that Rosie didn’t peel it because it is this tactile activity he loves most about the food. He watches a pickup baseball game, colored children and white. He marvels. By pubescence the lines would start being drawn, but at this age, even in the Deep South they could put aside their differences so as to collect enough players for a team. So when exactly does it begin? The point of no return, when race defines everything?
He remembers his undergraduate days, a few mixed mixers with other local colleges wherein he had had his share of run-ins with a certain faction of the White Left and its patronizing arrogance. Befriending Negroes on their terms. They might say schools should be integrated, but would they send their children to the former colored school, to have them taught by black educators? The answer to that had left many Negro teachers supporting segregation for fear of losing their jobs, their dire predictions ultimately proving wretchedly accurate. And if a liberal socialized with you, did they consider you another distinct human being or merely a symbol of their broadmindedness?
But what about the whites who truly struggle for equality, who risked their own lives coming South to fight with their black brothers and sisters? And the progressives who lived in the South. Diana and her father come to mind, daring committed souls Eliot had come to trust, to be deeply fond of.
What about Keith? And like an avalanche the reality comes crashing down: What had really irked Eliot was not his brother’s sexual relationship so much as the fact that Keith was white. Not that Eliot would have been exactly thrilled had Dwight appointed his male colored lover as a pallbearer but, in seeing a sixth black man complete the assemblage, Eliot certainly would not have made that ugly scene that shames him now. And after all that, it was Keith’s graciousness that had allowed him to see his mother for the last time. Evil is epidemic in White America—and Eliot thinks bitterly about the fate of little Max and Jordan—but it is not universal.
The image comes back to him now of Beau and Roy’s embrace: more like brothers than brothers-in-law, and Eliot wonders if he and Dwight could ever be that close. After Eliot’s emotional release the night before their mother’s funeral, the brothers had remained stoic at the service, comforting their father when necessary but otherwise left to their own private ache. Yet there were words that needed to be spoken between him and Dwight. Well. They had both promised to come home and be with their father on Thanksgiving and Christmas too. There would be time then to start the conversation.
The courthouse clock strikes 5:45, and as Eliot strolls back to the jail he hears a crack. A Negro boy has hit the ball to the farthest outfield, and now runs as if victory in this game will win him the world.
Eliot crosses the threshold to see Warren, Joe Archie, and Les quietly talking. Warren smiles. “This your first time down South, son?”
“No,” and Eliot tells them about Max and Jordan. The local men are jolted by the case, and impressed by Eliot’s part in it. He asks where Mrs. Yancey is.
“I talked her into staying home until we came for her,” says Joe Archie. “Close to a bathroom she can use.”
The sheriff walks in from the outside, not looking in the direction of the Negroes and continuing to ignore them after he takes the deputy’s place and begins paperwork. Warren, flanked by the others, goes to the desk. “Sheriff Tucker, I would like to—”
“Bail’s set at one hundred dollars.” Tucker doesn’t look up.
Warren seems confused. �
��Sir?”
“You heard me, an one a you can go back. One.” He holds up his right index finger for emphasis before returning to his work.
Warren takes the colored men aside. “I don’t have that kind of cash on me right now but I can get it. If you could talk to Mr. Yancey,” Warren is looking at Eliot, “let him know it’s on the way.”
Tucker unlocks a door. “Double shift tonight, Jesse,” he utters to the guard, which sounds less like a friendly reminder than something between a reprimand and a warning, given that the watchman clearly just snapped to after a little shut-eye.
There are only two prisoners, a young white man with reddish-blond hair looking a bloody dirty mess who gapes at Eliot as they pass, and in the cell next to him Mr. Yancey. Eliot looks in at his client. A black eye, blood on his shirt. His arm hangs lazily, in a way that suggests it’s broken. Eliot is astounded, and then angry at himself for being so: as if they wouldn’t do such a thing to a frail old man. He turns to the guard, glaring. The guard smiles a little, shrugs. “Resistin arrest.” Glancing at the white man, Eliot thinks, Seems like a lot of that’s going around. He makes himself focus on his client, speaking quietly, informing him that he is his attorney, assuring him that help would arrive momentarily in the form of bail, that he would be out soon and taken to the hospital. The old man nods. “Can you please tell my wife I’m alright?”
“I don’t want to leave here until you are released, sir, but when the other men come back, I promise one of us will let her know.” Eventually Eliot hears Warren’s voice from the front desk area, and he starts to walk out.
“Hey!”
The white inmate. He sounds agitated, indignant, the tone Eliot associates with a preamble to a spat of racial epithets, and because Eliot cannot afford to lose his temper now, he keeps walking.
“Hey! I ain’t got no lawyer!”
The guard snickers. He unlocks the door, and Eliot walks through to find Warren posting bail. The sheriff accompanies Eliot back to Mr. Yancey, ordering the guard to release the prisoner.
